Writing exercise 2
I remember standing in a forest for the first time in my life. We are on a family camping trip off the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. We drive several miles to an overlook that gives a view only of mountains and sky. The world is a bigger place than I have ever known. And it is more beautiful than I have ever seen.
A trail runs from the overlook to a waterfall a mile or so away. We enter the path through balsam giants and I am in a place unlike any I have ever seen. I smell and taste the sharpness in the air, my palette rich with pine and wood and earth and clean. The reverence of the silence is overwhelming. A carpet of generations of fallen balsam needles mixed with the sweet decay of fallen twigs and branches softens every step I take. Trees are around me and above me and I am wrapped in peacefulness and the protection of greens and browns and blues.
My father continues down the path, but no waterfall can lure from this place. I want to be alone for as long as I can; I am entirely alone no matter who is with me. All needs are met here and suddenly I understand the meaning of sanctuary. Leave me here – let me worship in this moment for the rest of my life.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Exercises
I'm starting a series of new writing exercises from Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir by Natalie Goldberg. The first topic is "I am watching..."
I am watching the night closing in, at darkness spreading from the ground up. The tops of the trees are outlined against a deepening gray sky. This is my favorite time to be out alone.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark and, even as a child, would be out alone as late as my parents would allow me. Once my children came along, I loved to get the kids to bed and take the dog for a walk in the neighborhood. One night a car with New York tags pulled up beside me; the man driving the car leaned back out of the way so his wife could stare at me from the passenger side. “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked. I laughed and said no, that I walked every night at this time. It was obvious that they were looking for a house in the area and their NY tags said all I needed to know. I wouldn’t walk alone in the dark there, either.
Now, I limit my excursions in the dark to tracking down a sleepy dog at bedtime. Bess loves the night as I do and, on her last trip outside, frequently falls asleep at the front of the yard. I pick my way through the shrubs and trees, gently shake her awake, and follow her back to the house.
Perhaps I should put her in the car just as the sun sinks out of sight and take her to a flat place for a walk that would fill both of our needs for some nightly solitude. I am willing to make a concession to my failing knees; streetlights and a level sidewalk would be welcome. I won’t even talk to her as I normally do when we walk together. We’ll just pretend the leash between us doesn’t really exist and imagine ourselves as two completely independent wanderers in the night. I wonder if either of us would be afraid, away from our own turf and our familiar sounds. Would we still be comfortable without the companionship of my husband and Bess’ bigger brother?
Maybe I’ll settle for sitting on the benches in the yard in the dark while she sleeps nearby. Maybe she’ll even join me and we can welcome the peace of the night together.
I am watching the night closing in, at darkness spreading from the ground up. The tops of the trees are outlined against a deepening gray sky. This is my favorite time to be out alone.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark and, even as a child, would be out alone as late as my parents would allow me. Once my children came along, I loved to get the kids to bed and take the dog for a walk in the neighborhood. One night a car with New York tags pulled up beside me; the man driving the car leaned back out of the way so his wife could stare at me from the passenger side. “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked. I laughed and said no, that I walked every night at this time. It was obvious that they were looking for a house in the area and their NY tags said all I needed to know. I wouldn’t walk alone in the dark there, either.
Now, I limit my excursions in the dark to tracking down a sleepy dog at bedtime. Bess loves the night as I do and, on her last trip outside, frequently falls asleep at the front of the yard. I pick my way through the shrubs and trees, gently shake her awake, and follow her back to the house.
Perhaps I should put her in the car just as the sun sinks out of sight and take her to a flat place for a walk that would fill both of our needs for some nightly solitude. I am willing to make a concession to my failing knees; streetlights and a level sidewalk would be welcome. I won’t even talk to her as I normally do when we walk together. We’ll just pretend the leash between us doesn’t really exist and imagine ourselves as two completely independent wanderers in the night. I wonder if either of us would be afraid, away from our own turf and our familiar sounds. Would we still be comfortable without the companionship of my husband and Bess’ bigger brother?
Maybe I’ll settle for sitting on the benches in the yard in the dark while she sleeps nearby. Maybe she’ll even join me and we can welcome the peace of the night together.
Lunch List
For several years, I've kept a list of people I would truly like to sit down and talk to over lunch. I think this stems from wanting to get a personal sense of them, not so much because they are celebrities or politicians. I've chosen not to explain who they are, even if they are known only regionally or locally. You might enjoy discovering them on your own.
You may also find some of these hard to accept. Please add your own comments. I would also like to know who you would secretly love to have lunch with if you could.
I will also add to this list, from time to time.
You may also find some of these hard to accept. Please add your own comments. I would also like to know who you would secretly love to have lunch with if you could.
I will also add to this list, from time to time.
Men who served with my father in WWII
Jimmy Carter
Tiger Woods
Queen Latifah
Gail King
Hillary Clinton
George and Laura Bush
Barack Obama
Whoopee Goldberg
Angela Lansbury
Rick Warren
Billy Graham
Mohammed Ali
Colin Powell
Natalie Goldberg
Clark Howard
Jeff Lindsey
Pat Conroy
Caroline Kennedy
Richard Riley
Bill and Melinda Gates
Amy Roloff
Bruce Springsteen
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